Pheasant or Peasant

A thankful morning, from last Thanksgiving...

 

Driving to work yesterday it was 7°, brisk fresh air, blue clear sky (Thank you King George). It was my Friday. My job is rewarding, the owner is gifted, fair, and cares about her employees. My friends here in Wyoming, across the nation, and some even around the world, are solid - my inner circle tight. 

 

Today is the first of three days off for Maggie, George, and I to do as we please. When Maggie went missing, I realized how much I need her when I come home. George W is understanding. Meow. 

 

Reflecting on the past week, I make myself laugh. I asked a colleague this week if her husband was ‘peasant’ hunting, laughing as quickly as peasant flew out of my mouth. Yes, he’s pheasant hunting. (I’ve been called a peasant, probably more than once. I’ve yet to sell a ‘stimulated’ diamond 😉, or simulated diamond for that matter, scary. Perish the thought, peasant.) 

 

I realize I’m pretty literal. Is that a bad thing? Maybe a little Forrest Gumpish?

 

I realize I judge others more than I intend. I’m particularly unforgiving towards me. Just stop, peasant. Fortunately for me, there is One who will fairly and justly judge all. I’ve been relieved of that particular task. 

 

This Thanksgiving many are suffering, struggling for hope after being displaced in California. A friend is helping her elderly parents decide how best to proceed with clean up. Yesterday I received this message from her: 

 

“Thank you, dear D, for your kind and touching words. There is much work ahead. The devastated surroundings and the smell of smoke remind us all what a miracle saved homes and lives in this area. Much to be thankful for, including kind friends like you, this Thanksgiving..”

 

Oh my heart. 

 

Tempted sometimes to lower my level of hope, as IF God isn’t capable of great and mighty works, I stand. Firm. 

 

With a grateful heart,

 

D

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